There’s nothing new about false modesty, nor its designation as a form of bad manners. But the prevalence of social media has given us many more canvases on which to paint our faux humility — making us, in turn, increasingly sophisticated braggers.

Indeed, this may be why false modesty is no less discomfiting to its audience (and is sometimes more so) than outright bragging. Outright bragging expects to be met with awe, but humblebragging wants to met with awe and sympathy. It asks for two reactions from its audience, and in so doing makes fools of its beholders twice over. The practice is also ineffably irritating because it ultimately and slyly asserts the triumph of business over the personal: given that there’s a higher tolerance for bragging in business than social circles, many falsely modest statements on Twitter and Facebook try to fly under decorum’s radar by whispering to their readers, “You’re my fan, not my friend.”

What societal failings can we hold accountable for the practice? It’s emblematic that one of the signature phrases to have emerged from reality television is “I’m not here to make friends, I’m here to win.” In most cultures, the assertion “I’m here to win,” as uttered by a contestant in a competition, would be deemed redundant. Reality television, like social media, is often pure advertising, so auto-trumpeting is thought to be less toxic.

Second, our weak economy has probably raised the bar for displays of competitiveness and semi-bald assertions of self-worth.

Third, many humblebraggers take solace in a rationalization that runs roughly, “I’m not throwing away my afternoon on the Internet, I’m waging a jihad of quirky auto-branding.”

Whatever its causes or context, humblebragging is a testament to the amount of ardor and subterfuge people bring to the craft of self-promotion. The varieties of humblebragging represent a breadth of motive and technique. Most humblebrags are attempts to convey one of three messages: “I have too much work”; “I am an idiot/impostor”; or “I have firsthand knowledge of the gritty gilt to be found inside the gilded cage.”

Photo

A 2010 image from the actor LeVar Burton’s Twitter account shows Christmas stockings hung from his many Emmys.

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But these categories are merely the beginning. Other humblebraggers can be found desperately trying to convince you that they’re normal or, even more disingenuously, trying to clear up nonexistent rumors. Humblebrags can gain special piquancy when their seeming effort to belittle their author also seemingly belittles others in the author’s path; note the use of quotation marks at the end of a tweet from the biographer Paula Broadwell in August: “Honored and humbled to be included in @claudiachan’s profiles of global ‘remarkable women.’ ” This tweet, too: “remarkable.”

Indeed, so diverse is the terrain that the anti-humblebrag — or, as the blogger Jen Doll has called it, the “underbrag” — has been born. As a Facebook friend of mine, the writer Teddy Wayne, announced on that site recently: “To counter the prevailing social-media ethos of posting only successes (professional accomplishments, vacation/party/elaborate meal photos, humblebrags), a practice from which I am not exempt either, I will sporadically begin posting instances of failure with the hashtag #failures. To avoid pity-parties, I will end each note with a spirited exclamation point!” Here are acts of stupidity and ignorance devoid of possible reward, other than the enactor’s demonstrating enough confidence to share his act of stupidity or ignorance. Think face-plants in mud; think ill-fitting underpants.

How should we react to false modesty? When we encounter it on social media, it’s usually easy enough to stop following or to unfriend yourself from the culprit. But its real-life iterations are more complicated.

There’s great solace in rolling your eyes heavenward in the presence of a sympathetic conspirator, and in developing with that conspirator a series of nonbitchy jokes fueled by the humblebrag and its creator. But in the end, the real challenge is to realize that falsely modest people are probably trying to combat their own perceived weakness. We then need to try to cultivate a tolerance devoid of condescension, possibly taking a cue from Victoria Gotti, who, when asked about her husband, John Gotti, once said, “All I know is, he provides.”

I learned the hard way. There was no greater humblebragger in my life than a friend who told me about a publicity tour for which he’d been sent to Germany, lamenting, “I chain-smoked the entire tour.” Another time, he alluded to himself as “beloved by all yet loved by none.” Once, at a dinner party in his home, he told five of us all about an acting award he’d received at a film festival in Mexico — but then explained he had to pay to collect the medal.

I quailed at all three of these statements, viewing them as manipulative attempts to assert worth. I thought, What creative person who is not a household name would kick international publicity in the teeth? And who, outside hoary TV legends, would ever refer to himself as “beloved”? My irritation sat with me like an unwanted houseguest ashing all over my slipcovers. One night over dinner, I started to call him out on it, but lost my nerve.

When he died a year later of cancer, I suddenly felt different. Now I could see the humble through the bragging.

A version of this article appears in print on December 2, 2012, on Page ST2 of the New York edition with the headline: If I Do Humblebrag So Myself. Order Reprints|Today's Paper|Subscribe